“You’ll see.”
It doesn’t take long before we get there, and when we enter the small room with the computers, we find Colton hunched over the screen. One has a pin on a map, the other looks like Google Maps, but with Colton, I’m not so sure anymore.
“Got any info on the fruit fly?”
Colt rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Nothing since the last update before the whole dock thing.” He nods toward the screen. “Brooks’s there.” He points to the dot on the strange map. Then he points to a spot on the other map. “That’s over here,” he says. “But I just can’t…”
“The fucking Knights of Mayhem. Damn it, Brooks.” I slam my fist on the desk.
“Goddamn it!” Colt roars. “Mind the fucking equipment. You know how much that shit costs?”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Okay, we’ve gotta go get him, and I think we’ll need some backup.” I dig my phone out of my pocket.
“I’ll send a message to the club,” Colt mumbles. “Meet me at the bar in five minutes.” His fingers fly across the keyboard and before I’ve even found Pax’s number, he says, “Done. Come on.” As he rises, he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair. The three of us run outside, where I hop on the back of Asher’s bike and Colt starts his own. The engines roar to life, and we rush back to the clubhouse.
Lo-and-behold, everyone is already waiting for us when we arrive.
“What’s going on?” Dad asks as I get out of the car.
“They killed Jen. Brooks… He’s…”
“Fuck,” my father yells. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. That kid…”
“Did you hear what I said?” I yell back at him. “They killed Jen. What the hell would you do if they…” I don’t even want to think about it.
My dad cuts in. “Where is he?”
“I sent the location to all your phones. No idea what we’ll find.” Colt wiggles his own phone back and forth. “Ready to go?”
There’s some mumbling, and everyone starts their engines. I walk over to Crusher, tell him to watch Layne, and then climb on my Indian. We quickly fall into formation.
My stomach drops the moment we arrive at the location. The warehouse door is flung wide open. It’s a gaping black hole with a body on the floor next to it—probably the building’s security guard. We switch off our engines when we’re close enough and roll forward a few more meters. I park my Indian in front of a locked building, put my helmet on the seat and as I stand, my fingers close around the Glock tucked into my waistband. Carefully, I click open the magazine and peer inside. Two empty chambers, so I reach into my pocket for some spare bullets. I put two in the chambers and click the magazine back into place. Then I scan the area for Ash. I quickly spot him next to Colt and my brother. Without pausing, I walk over to them.
“Fuck,” he says. “What the hell’s he thinking?”
“Nothing. He didn’t think about it for a second. This is blind rage,” I grumble and light a cigarette.
“Seriously, Ky? We’re about to go into that building and you’re lighting a cigarette?” Pax rolls his eyes and sighs.
I take a long drag. “I need it,” I mumble. Who knows what state my best friend will be in when I find him? Best-case scenario, he’ll be in one piece with no scrapes. Worst-case scenario… like that guy on the floor.
I walk up to the door with my gun in my hand. Ash pursues me and soon the rest of the club joins us in a line. I’m scared shitless of what I’m going to find inside.
I push with my foot against the man lying in the doorway. He doesn’t budge. I can’t assume he’s dead, but it sure looks like it. As quietly as possible, I shuffle past him and try to peek inside. Death silent. Literally. The first three people I see are certainlydead. One’s throat has been slit, the second’s intestines are spilled all over the floor, and the third’s got a bullet lodged in his skull. There’s blood everywhere, but I can’t understand why it’s so damn quiet.
“Shit,” Asher comments as he takes in the scene before us. “This doesn’t look good, Ky.”
“Tell me ‘bout it,” I whisper.
We slowly shuffle forward, and the others follow suit.
With my Glock raised, I turn the corner and aim the gun at nothing but five other bodies. This is fucked up. Where the hell is Brooks?
I take a step forward, then another, and as I round the next corner with my Glock in my hand and my finger on the trigger, I aim it at the back of my best friend.
“Where’s the bastard?”
Blood covers Brooks, who sits on a man’s chest. He’s pressing a knife against his throat.
